


Some Kind of Wonderful

by variablestar



Series: all you knead is love [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Getting Together, M/M, this is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variablestar/pseuds/variablestar
Summary: He's got this look on his face like he knows Kenma's heart is all messed up in his chest, but he's also blushing like his is doing the same.Kenma falls in love with a customer at the bakery.





	Some Kind of Wonderful

            The bakery opens at seven o’clock every morning, and that includes weekends. But really, everyone who’s working the opening shift is meant to get there no later than five-thirty. Kenma avoids working those days as much as he possibly can, but sometimes it’s unavoidable, with the way the schedules work. Also, Suga is kind of a bit of a sadist.

 

            It’s probably not wrong to say it’s the sadism thing that has Kenma there on a Saturday morning, before the sun’s even started rising.

 

            It’s probably also the sadism thing that put Atsumu to work at the same time. Atsumu’s annoying as it is, and when he’s tired? He’s an asshole. Kenma would rather deal with an entire midday rush on his own than spend a morning with Atsumu. The only upside is that Akaashi’s also there, but Akaashi’s got a vendetta against Kenma since he told Bokuto about Akaashi’s thoughts on his biceps.

 

            This is Suga’s payback for something. He’s just not sure _what_.

 

            “Fuck this,” Atsumu whines, dropping the spoon back into the bowl of frosting. He turns to look at Kenma, pouting, and Kenma already knows what’s coming. “Why can’t _you_ frost it? You’re better at it, and it’s boring and it sucks and I hate it.”

 

            “You hate doing everything,” Kenma mutters, turning back towards the cookies he’s arranging on a tray. “Do it yourself.”

 

            “ _Kenma_.”

 

            “No,” Kenma says, “because if I let you switch with me, you’ll get bored in ten minutes, and then you’ll start whining again, and you’ll ask Keiji if you can do what he’s doing instead, even though you hate setting up, and then it’s this all over again. Frost the cake.”

 

            Atsumu turns away with a huff. “Fuck you. Asshole. Bastard.”

 

            “No swearing in the bakery!” Suga calls from the back office. Like a hypocrite.

 

            Akaashi comes back in then, looks between Kenma and Atsumu, and sighs. He already knows what’s coming.

 

            “Aka-chan—“

 

            “No.”

 

            “Aka-kun.”

 

            “Nope.”

 

            “Akaashi-san—“

 

            “Shut up, frost the cake.”

 

            Kenma sets the last cookie on the tray, placing it so it won’t fall over, so Oikawa won’t make a fuss about it when he sees it, and makes a silent bet with himself that it’ll take less than two minutes for Akaashi to crack. He knows the solution that’ll benefit himself most in the end — bastard calculates every single thing, so carefully — and that solution is inevitably going to lead to Atsumu being a pain-in-the-ass for Kenma for the next hour, until he really starts to wake up. Or, well, until Kawanishi comes in.

 

            Either way, Akaashi is stupidly weak.

 

            He takes the tray out to the front, to put in the display case. The sun is starting to slip in through the windows, lighting up the room. One of them’s going to have to open the door soon, and it won’t be long after that Nishida-san will come in for daifuku, and Kawanishi for Atsumu. This is how every morning has gone for the last two years that Kenma’s worked here.

 

            Kenma starts straightening some of the other trays in the display case, fixes the vase of flowers they have next to the register so the peonies look less messed up. There’s still icing sugar dusted across the tops of the picture frames on the back wall from Shirabu exploding a bag of it a week ago. He supposes this is what happens when they leave Atsumu to clean things up. _Annoying_.

 

            The door to the kitchen opens halfway, and Suga tosses a ring of keys over. Kenma barely has the chance to catch them. “Do you mind unlocking? Akaashi’s kind of . . .”

 

            Kenma nods. _Easy to crack_. Whatever issue Atsumu’s causing is his own fault, and as much as Kenma hates managing the counter, it’s better than being back there with _that_.

 

            The bakery’s barely been open five minutes when someone comes in, and Kenma hates that his thoughts stutter for a second as the customer walks in. Kenma’s not Oikawa, not Yahaba — the first word his mind is supplying shouldn’t be _beautiful_ , and yet—

 

            “Good morning!”

 

            He’s too awake for seven in the morning. The crooked smile too easy and smooth, his step too light. His hair looks like he’s just rolled out of bed — which shouldn’t be charming but it kind of _is_ — but the rest of him looks like he might have gotten up before _Kenma_ did this morning. Which is stupidly early. And Kenma thinks there’s a chance Oikawa’s not wrong about aliens.

 

            He walks right up to the counter and leans his arms on it, and his sweater is as obnoxiously bright as he is perky at this time of the morning.

 

            “How can I help you?” Kenma asks.

 

            Even Nishida-san has the good grace to look sleepy in the mornings.

 

            “Can I get . . . four of those chocolate cookies?” he asks, pointing to the tray Kenma just set out. “And six anpan.”

 

            Kenma nods and grabs a box to put them all in. He’s _tall_. Taller than Kenma by a good amount, and his hair adds to that, and does he style it like that or did he really just roll out of bed and leave it? There’s a half-washed off temporary tattoo of a cat on his neck. He kind of wants to ask what he needs all this for, but Kenma’s never been one to intrude.

 

            “2500 yen,” Kenma tells him as he closes the little cardboard box. Bright yellow, like everything else in the bakery. Side effect of Oikawa letting Suga choose the color scheme.

 

            The guy nods with that lazy grin and pulls out his wallet, and Kenma lets himself think for just a moment that he really _is_ attractive. And then he pushes the thought way down to come back to later, because now is definitely not the time for that.

 

            He’s gone a minute later, and Kenma tries to pretend he’s not hoping the guy comes back. Atsumu’s yelling in the kitchen.

 

            He’s still got the guy in his head the next few days. Not constantly, but when Kawanishi comes in and Atsumu bounds over to the counter to talk to him, or when Terushima drops in one afternoon to talk about the _beautiful_ man he saw on the subway, Kenma’s mind drifts to messy hair and a patchy calico cat on skin. It’s pathetic and he knows it. It’s like he’s on Yahaba’s level, which is sad, really, but he can’t stop himself, either. So it’s somewhere between torture and relief when the guy’s back in less than a week later, just as early, and just as wide awake.

 

            It’s by luck that Kenma’s even working that morning, and chance that he’s covering the counter while Shirabu takes care of milk bread that Yahaba’s ruining in the kitchen. It’s still too early, and Kenma still feels like he could curl up with a pile of aprons as blankets to take a nap, and when the guy comes in, the sunlight is pale across his face and honestly, it’s not even a little bit fair.

 

            He asks for the same as last time, and maybe he _does_ style his hair like that, which is a weird choice, but it still looks _good_ , so maybe there’s nothing wrong with that. He leans against the display case while Kenma is putting the order into the register with that weirdly pretty half-smile.

 

            “So . . . Kozume-kun,” he starts, squinting to read the text on Kenma’s name tag.

 

            “Kenma. Just— Kenma’s fine.” He regrets it as soon as the words are out, because who cares, honestly, and it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter. But he can’t take them back. All he can do is wince and feel the regret building in his chest.

 

            But then the guy grins and nods and carries on like it’s nothing, “Alright, Kenma. Are you always here this early?”

 

            Kenma wrinkles his nose at the thought of always having to show up at hell o’clock, like Suga does voluntarily every day — even though Suga doesn’t count, really, because he just lives upstairs, not halfway across town, and he doesn’t have a stupidly long commute — and shakes his head. “Just sometimes. Are you? Always out this early?” He wonders how Oikawa does it — how it’s so _easy_ for him to talk to everyone, with all the right words and reactions. Kenma’s never sure what exactly he’s supposed to say, and it only gets worse when it’s someone unfairly pretty like this.

 

            “Always,” he nods. “I work at the animal shelter, a couple blocks over — have to be there to walk the dogs, make sure they’re all eating. Not so bad when you get used to it, you know? And it’s not like I can complain when I’m getting up for them every day. Better than getting up for class. The dogs always beat microbiology.”

 

            It’s not supposed to be cute. It shouldn’t be, but it _is_.

 

            He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, and he’s starting to back away from the counter after paying when he says, “Kuroo.” Kenma furrows his brow, trying to think of what that’s supposed to mean when the guy grins. “I’ve got your name, it’s only fair if you know mine. Kuroo Tetsurou, pleasure to meet you.” And then he’s turning and walking out, just as Nishida-san’s coming in.

 

            “Good morning, Kenma-kun,” she says with her familiar, warm smile. “Who was that just now? You’re blushing.”

 

            Even if she’s right, she doesn’t have to _say_ it.

 

            “No one,” Kenma says, doing his best to avoid her gaze. “Just— It’s no one.”

 

            “Doesn’t seem like no one,” Nishida-san says, and Kenma hates that she has the same little grin Oikawa gets when he knows there’s a secret someone isn’t telling. Makes him feel too exposed. He needs less prying people in his life.

 

            She lets it go, though. The conspiratorial smile doesn’t go away as Kenma’s getting her daifuku together, but when she starts talking again, it’s about the sweater she’s knitting for her granddaughter. Kenma’s grateful she’s the one who walked in, not Semi or Terushima, or someone who’d be pestering him endlessly until he gave up information about Kuroo.

 

            He spends half the morning thinking about how, with the odds being what they are, it’s not likely Kenma’s going to be seeing Kuroo again soon. It’s not like he comes in every morning, and Kenma usually works afternoons, and the chances are slim that they’re going to cross paths again. Which is fine, because there’s a high chance that if Kuroo _does_ come back in, it’s going to be when someone else is at the counter _with_ Kenma.

 

            And that’s kind of really not what he needs.

 

            But he doesn’t get that. Instead, he gets a week later when he’s walking to meet Terushima for lunch, and Kuroo’s out walking the biggest dog Kenma’s ever seen. It’s the kind of dog that would probably be taller than Kenma — taller than Kuroo, maybe — standing on just its back legs.

 

            Kuroo grins when he sees Kenma coming the other way down the sidewalk.

 

            “Kenma! Hey.” He slows to a stop, and the dog stands at his side. It’s _massive_ , but it’s pretty. Kenma doesn’t know if it’d be okay to pet it. “Heading to the bakery, or . . ?”

 

            Kenma shakes his head. “Lunch. I don’t really work Sundays. Is this—“

 

            He stops short when the dog steps forward to nose at Kenma’s hand, and Kuroo laughs, a little sound that isn’t _pretty_ but it’s still _nice_.

 

            “This is Cider,” Kuroo tells him. “She’s nice, promise. Too nice, sometimes. Likes to try and curl up on your lap like she’s six kilograms instead of sixty. Tries to act all innocent even when you _saw_ her take the salmon from your plate.”

 

            Kuroo’s got this soft look on his face as he looks down at her, and Kenma moves his hand to scratch behind her ears. Her tail wags happily and she leans her head into it, and Kenma can feel the smile tugging at his lips.

 

            “She’s sweet,” Kenma says, because he feels like he needs to say _something_. And this time it feels right, because Kuroo is _beaming_ , and it’s _nice_ and he’s pretty and there’s little cats printed on his t-shirt.

 

            It’s another minute before Cider starts moving again, wandering into the grass and down the sidewalk past Kenma, and Kuroo pulls forward a step when she moves far enough to tug at the leash. He’s kind of bordering on standing too close to Kenma with that, but Kenma can’t say he necessarily minds it.

 

            “I should go, get her back,” Kuroo says. “Still have a couple others to walk before lunch. I’ll see you?”

 

            Kenma nods. He comes close to bringing Kuroo up to Terushima a handful of times during lunch, but thinks better of it. Terushima talks too much about everything, and Kenma’s not sure if he really wants to tell him that he’s got a crush yet. And it feels _weird_ to be calling it that, even if that’s what it is — he’s crushing on Kuroo. It’s just a little thing, but the feeling still exists. He thinks he’s sort of charming and he’s definitely beautiful, and Kenma finds himself spending too much time thinking about when they might end up crossing paths again. He _likes_ him and he knows it.

 

            It’s a couple days later that Yahaba’s leaning against the front counter, going through different food colorings, and Kenma’s trying to get the icing sugar out of the crevice between the register and the counter top.

 

            “Why does Atsumu even work here?” he mutters. “Doesn’t do anything.” He could probably _move_ the register, just enough, but it’s not really worth the effort.

 

            “No, no, he does stuff,” Yahaba says, pulling out an empty bottle of red coloring. “Like spend half his shift pining after Kawanishi-san, and mix up the flour and sugar containers.”

 

            Kenma snorts a laugh. He knows, realistically, Atsumu _does_ work, but there’s also the fact that Kenma’s standing there cleaning the icing sugar and that last week, Atsumu accidentally let a customer leave with a full box of cupcakes without paying.

 

            “You’re right, he makes a _great_ contribution here,” Kenma says. “Don’t know what we’d do without him.” He tosses the paper towel he’s been using in to the garbage can. He’ll get someone else to deal with it later, with how it’s going for him. Koganegawa, maybe.

 

            Yahaba scowls at an open blue food coloring. “That _asshole_. I _knew_ he lost the fucking lid. Watch the counter,” he says, already moving into the kitchen. Kenma doesn’t bother telling him that Atsumu left twenty minutes ago to make a delivery. Maybe if he’s lucky, Yahaba will get distracted while he’s back there and finish the dishes for him.

 

            It’s hardly a minute later that the door opens and Kuroo’s coming in. It’s different not to see him dead early in the morning. He still has the bed-head, but Kenma’s not half-asleep to be seeing him.

 

            “Kuroo,” he says by way of greeting. “How are you?” He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands when he doesn’t have pockets. Kuroo looks good in blue.

 

            “I’m _wonderful_ ,” Kuroo says. He leans against the counter like he’s perfectly comfortable there. “I mean, I’ve been up since before five, and Dot — one of the cats — totally tried to rip my arm apart, but I’ve had like three cups of coffee in the last couple hours, and you’re here, and there’s still chocolate cookies left, so I’m really pretty good. You?”

 

            Kenma can’t really remember the last crush he had. There were the thirty seconds when he first met Atsumu where he thought he was a little attractive, but then Atsumu opened his mouth and _that_ went away _immediately._ High school, probably. The kid in the computer club that Kenma couldn’t bring himself to join. It’s a feeling that Kenma thinks makes him just a little stupid.

 

            Not a bad one, though.

 

            “Fine. I’ve been here all day, but it’s been kind of slow, so.” He shrugs. “Why’d the cat scratch you?”

 

            “Mm, it’s my fault, really,” Kuroo admits. “Cider got excited about something and it spooked Dot. Probably shouldn’t have tried to pick her up, really. Bright side is, Sawamura got the fun band-aids this time.” Kuroo holds out his arm to show off bright colored band-aids along his arm, not quite totally covering the scratches.

 

            “That looks like it hurt,” Kenma says. He starts to reach out before he can really think about what he’s doing. His fingers just barely brush Kuroo’s arm, grazing the skin right near one of the deeper scratches, the middle of it covered with one Mickey Mouse band-aid, and one bright pink one. He pulls his hand back immediately after he realizes what he’s doing. And Kuroo’s got this look on his face like he knows Kenma’s heart is all fucky in his chest, but he’s also blushing like his is doing the same.

 

            Kenma turns his gaze to the counter.

 

            “Not the worst,” Kuroo says. “Not as bad the bite from this big shepherd mix that used to be at the shelter. Can’t blame him for that, either, though. Had bad owners before, you know?”

 

            He nods. Wonders if maybe he should offer proper bandages that’ll fully cover the scratches so they don’t get infected or something. He doesn’t really ever know what’s the right thing to say, though, especially around Kuroo, so instead he asks, “Chocolate cookies?”

 

            “ _Yes_ ,” Kuroo says, relief passing over his face. It’s stupidly endearing. “Four, please. You’ve always got the best ones here, you know?”

 

            Kenma lets Kuroo pay, and hands him the receipt to sign while he collects the cookies. Yahaba’s been in the kitchen for too long, and it’s all Kenma can hope for that he _stays_ back there until Kuroo leaves. Yahaba’s ruined plenty of things for him already, he doesn’t need to interfere with this, too.

 

            Kuroo grins when he takes the box of cookies from Kenma. “I’d really love to stay and talk,” he says, “but I’m kind of supposed to be meeting a friend for dinner. I’ll see you later?”

 

            He says it like a promise, and Kenma nods. It’s only after Kuroo’s left that he sees a number written across the bottom of the receipt. He can feel his cheeks warming as he looks at it, completely stuck in place for a moment—

 

            And then he’s internally cursing Kuroo, because he can’t _hide_ this. They have to keep all the receipts for financial records, and at some point, Suga or Oikawa — or worse, _both_ — is going to see it, and Kenma’s never going to hear the end of it.

 

            Then again, it’s not like he has to _tell_ them that it means anything. Or even that it was given to him. They don’t have to know—

 

            “Customer came in?”

 

            Yahaba. _Fucking_ Yahaba.

 

            “Um, yeah,” Kenma says, trying to hide the number. Yahaba’s a bastard. Prying and too talkative about every last thing, and he’d probably sell any one of them at the bakery to the devil for half a stale donut. Kenma likes him, sure, but that doesn’t change how he is as a person.

 

            And how he is as a person is awful, when it means his eyes light up when he sees Kenma’s hand deliberately covering the end of the receipt, and he makes a move to grab it. Kenma’s not fast enough to move it out of the way.

 

            “Oh, what’s this, what’s this?”

 

            “Shigeru—“

 

            “Kenma, who came in, huh? Who was that?” Yahaba’s definitely crowding into his personal space, grinning just like Oikawa does when he’s being snotty. “They gave you their phone number.”

 

            “You don’t know him,” Kenma says, grabbing the receipt back.

 

            “But _you_ do,” Yahaba counters. “Who is he, Ken, huh? What d’you know him from?”

 

            “Nothing. Shut up, nothing.”

 

            “So _something_. Class?” Yahaba guesses. “Nerd club?”

 

            “You’re in robotics club, fuck off,” Kenma says.

 

            Yahaba laughs, that stupid airy thing, and he’s so full of himself. Kenma just wants a minute alone to add Kuroo’s number to his phone. He wants a customer to come in to distract Yahaba and for Suga to be in the office, and instead he’s getting Yahaba hanging off his shoulders asking about whose number it is.

 

            “Is he a regular I don’t know about?” Yahaba asks, leaning the side of his head against Kenma’s. “Are _you_ a regular where he works and he just _happened_ to come here? He’s not just some random customer, you’re _blushing_.”

 

            Kenma scowls. He’d really, _really_ almost rather it be Atsumu finding out about the number. He at least has dirt on Atsumu to fight back with. But Yahaba’s totally open about most things, and too shifty about the rest. Kenma can’t fire back at him. All he can do is sit and take it.

 

            “I can’t believe you’ve got a crush,” Yahaba snorts. “That’s so sweet. So cute of you.”

 

            “You’re an awful person,” Kenma tells him.

 

            “I can live with that.”

 

            He’s lucky when a pair of customers comes in and Yahaba gets caught helping them. Kenma manages to slip back into the kitchen, receipt shoved into his pocket. He’ll stick it where it belongs later. When there’s no chance of Suga being around to know who the number is _for_ , and Yahaba’s not there to tell him.

 

            It’s later that evening that he’s laying across Terushima’s couch, staring at an empty text conversation with Kuroo’s name at the top of his screen. Terushima’s draped over the back of the couch, watching the cursor blink in the text box.

 

            “Just say hello!” he urges, leaning forward. “I’ll do it for you—“

 

            “No.”

 

            Terushima laughs, because he _knows_ what happened last time he sent a text for Kenma, and Kenma’s still not over it.

 

            “What if he just says hello back? I don’t know what to say after that,” Kenma says. Terushima hoists himself over the couch and drops down to straddle Kenma’s lap, lifting the phone from his hands. “ _Yuu._ “

 

            “I won’t send anything! Promise!”

 

            Kenma’s not sure he can trust him, but he knows if he tries to take his phone back, Terushima will run off and Kenma will get stuck chasing him around the apartment for it. Not worth it. So instead he busies himself with pulling a loose thread from Terushima’s t-shirt, and waits for him to finish typing.

 

            “Alright, pudding, how’s this?” Terushima flashes him the screen, and Kenma’s relieved to find it’s short and easy and exactly what he needs — a hello, a question to make sure it really _is_ Kuroo.

 

            Kenma nods. “You can send it.”

 

            Terushima grins, and Kenma hears the sound of the message going through. “See? Easy. Now c’mon, _tell me about him._ Is he pretty?”

 

            Kenma snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes. Thinks _yes_ , he _is_. And he figures there’s nothing wrong with telling Terushima as much.

 

            Kuroo texts back twenty minutes later. It interrupts Terushima’s argument that it’s _absolutely_ possible to play Uno with just two people, and Kenma doesn’t hesitate to pick it up. He knows Terushima’s watching him, but he can’t stop the smile that pulls at his lips as he reads over Kuroo’s message.

 

            Terushima’s quick to give up on the idea of card games once Kenma really starts texting Kuroo. Instead he throws on a movie they’ve both seen countless times and pulls him back onto the couch. Kenma keeps curled into his side, so Terushima can actually see his phone when he doesn’t know how to reply to Kuroo. He doesn’t want to mess up — doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and lose this chance. He likes Kuroo. He’s not going to screw it up.

 

            Talking to him turns out to be _easy_. It’s _nice._ He’s sweet and he’s funny and he sends pictures of the animals at the shelter. He makes a ton of typos that always take several attempts to correct, because _i type too fast it happens kenmaaa_. Yahaba gives him this annoying knowing look when he checks his phone at work, and Kenma’s pretty sure Akaashi’s starting to get suspicious too — which Kenma doesn’t need, considering he’s still not over the whole biceps thing. He’s always texting Terushima through his classes as it is, but now it’s all broken up by Kuroo’s messages, too.

 

            It’s two in the morning that Kenma’s still up texting Kuroo, reading a full paragraph message about a movie he can’t believe Kenma hasn’t seen, and another text comes in.

 

            _Come oveer this weekend, u can watch it_

 

            _see this masterpiece youve missed out on_

 

            And Kenma hides his smile in his pillow as he types back an _okay._

 

            He spends too much time thinking about it the rest of the week. He already worries too much about what people think of him, but he’s beyond that when it comes to what _Kuroo_ thinks of him. It matters more than what opinion one of his coworkers or one of their customers has of him.

 

            But Saturday comes, and they’ve worked out a time that Kuroo’s roommate will be gone, and Kenma shows up in the one red sweater without any holes, and Kuroo opens his apartment door with a wide grin. It looks like he _maybe_ tried to tame his hair, but it’s still sticking up and messy and Kenma can’t mind because it’s really, _really_ not a bad look. Kuroo looks good in blue but better in orange.

 

            “Hey, Kenma.” He steps to the side, lets Kenma come in. “Uh, sorry it’s still kinda messy. I tried to clean, but, you know. The cat.”

 

            “It’s fine.” Kenma doesn’t even really notice anything that bad — there’s a mug on the coffee table and a sweatshirt hanging off the arm of a chair, and cat toys and socks lying a little all over the place, but it’s not _bad_. “That guy come to adopt Luna yesterday?”

 

            Kuroo nods, perfectly happy. “She was excited to go with him. She’s gonna have a great home, I think. Uh, I made tea, if you want some. Peppermint.”

 

            “Sure.”

 

            They don’t get around to actually starting the movie. Because halfway through Kuroo getting the tea, his cat — a small, one-eared calico, named Ama — comes in, and they both kind of end up sitting on the kitchen floor with the tea and the cat and Kuroo’s stories about him. Kenma hangs off every word as he scratches behind Ama’s ears. He’s _kind of_ in love with the cat. And then Kuroo starts talking about the dog he had growing up, and he gets Kenma to show him pictures of _his_ cat, and Kenma’s biting his lip at Kuroo’s giddy expression.

 

            They still haven’t moved by the time they’ve both finished their tea, and Kuroo gets up to make more while Kenma stays on the floor to play with Ama. Kuroo leans against the counter, looking down at Kenma with a fond smile across his lips as he tells him about where they originally found Ama, sick and too small in an alley two blocks from the shelter.

 

            “Sawamura and I cleaned him up, brought him to the vet, took care of him,” Kuroo says. “He was real skittish at first, but he’s really warmed up. Now all he wants is to be pet and played with.” He nods his head towards Ama climbing into Kenma’s lap. “See? He never would’ve dared try that a year ago. Now he already loves you.”

 

            Kenma breathes a laugh and looks up at Kuroo, and yeah, he likes him, more than he should, maybe.

 

            Eventually, the cat ends up curled up next to Kenma on the couch while Kuroo goes to start the movie, but as he’s taking the DVD out of the case, he glances back and says, “You know, I don’t think I ever asked what you’re majoring in. You mentioned a calculus class, but that kind of applies to a lot.”

 

            “Computer engineering,” Kenma says. “I was . . . going to go into graphic design, but I changed my mind.”

 

            “Oh? How come?” Kuroo drops onto the couch next to him, and Ama is just barely functioning as a barrier between them.

 

            Kenma shrugs. “Graphic design’s great and all, it’s just— It’s not really what I want to do forever. Engineering is.”

 

            He does his best not to jump when Kuroo reaches to pet Ama, and his hand kind of brushes against Kenma’s thigh a little. He asks Kenma more about the coursework, about what he’s going to do after he gets his degree. Asks about how he ended up with a job at a _bakery_ if _that’s_ what he’s studying.

 

            Kenma tells him about the computer sciences club at university, and about how Shirabu’s boyfriend is in it with him, how between his and Terushima’s influence, he ended up applying. And for whatever stupid reason, Oikawa actually hired him.

 

            They end up talking for a good couple hours, while the title screen of the DVD plays the same thirty-second tune on a loop. Kenma’s not an overly talkative person, unless Terushima’s there to really get him going, but Kuroo fills in all the gaps seamlessly, and none of it is even a little bit awkward. It all flows and it’s easy and comfortable. Ama crawls into Kenma’s lap and Kuroo keeps absentmindedly petting him regardless, and Kenma keeps feeling his face warm every time Kuroo brushes against him instead but he can’t say he actually _minds_ it.

 

            Kuroo’s funny and he’s charming and sweet and he definitely teases Kenma over things like computer club and how picky he is about ice cream flavors, but it’s _light_ and Kenma can’t keep himself from _laughing_ and teasing Kuroo right back for his skeleton mishap in his anatomy lab, and it _works_. When Kuroo laughs it’s completely hideous and his shoulder bumps against Kenma’s. When Kenma laughs, Kuroo _beams_.

 

            He doesn’t even notice the time until the apartment door opens and someone else is coming in. Kuroo’s roommate, if Kenma’s judging on what Kuroo’s said about him in the minor passing comments — short and light-haired and glaring until he notices that Kuroo’s not alone.

 

            “Yaku! You’re home early,” Kuroo says, straightening up in his seat.

 

            Yaku gives a bemused look. “It’s after six. Technically, I’m home late.”

 

            “Six?” Kenma echoes. He turns his head to look up at Kuroo. “I’m supposed to be get back soon.” He promised Suna he’d be around to help out with one of his projects. That was when he hadn’t thought he’d end up staying this long at Kuroo’s — before he decided he _wanted_ to be staying this long.

 

            “I’ll walk you out!” Kuroo says, hopping to his feet. Yaku’s disappeared elsewhere by the time Kenma’s nudged Ama off his legs to stand.

 

            He lingers close to Kenma at the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall while Kenma gets his shoes back on. “Sorry we never got around to the movie,” he says. “I didn’t realize it’d been this long.”

 

            Kenma shrugs. It’s not as if he minded talking to Kuroo. “It’s fine,” he replies. “Next time.”

 

            A smile slips onto Kuroo’s face and he nods. “Next time.”

 

            He spends an hour texting Terushima about it later.

 

            Kuroo ends up coming by the bakery a couple days later, at the end of Kenma’s shift. He drapes himself over the display case, and Kenma’s probably supposed to tell him _not_ to do that, but he doesn’t. Instead he offers a smile and asks how his classes were.

 

            “We’ve got _baby snails_ ,” Kuroo tells him. “Baby snails in the lab. Like, a lot of them. They’re so neat. Kita hates them. You been here all day?”

 

            Kenma shakes his head. “Just the afternoon. I had class this morning. No snails.”

 

            “Well then what’s the _point?_ “

 

            He knows Kuroo’s smiling before he even looks up. Knows before he even sees it that it’s going to get his heart working on its audition for the Cirque du Soleil.

 

            “Give me two minutes to get Keiji out to cover the counter and we can go,” Kenma tells him.

 

            It’s just dinner, that they’re picking up on the way to _actually_ watch the movie. It’s not special, but Kenma’s spent half his shift thinking about it, eyeing the clock.

 

            He puts a small bag of chocolate cookies in his backpack before he leaves. Yahaba sends him a _look_ that he dutifully ignores.

 

            Kuroo walks close enough to him on the way to pick up their dinner that their hands keep brushing, and Kenma keeps _looking_ , and halfway down the street, his pinky catches Kuroo’s. Kuroo doesn’t look down, but he’s biting back a smile, and Kenma turns his gaze to the ground, knowing that he’s blushing. Crushes have always been stupid, and he’s spent months making fun of Yahaba for his, but it’s like. He _gets_ it. Crushes are stupid and there’s no reason for Kenma to be so flustered about Kuroo linking their next fingers together, but he _is_ , and as dumb as it is, he _gets_ it.

 

            He gets why Yahaba spilled half a bag of flour onto the floor when Kyoutani came in two weeks ago, gets why Atsumu always perks up in the mornings when Kawanishi comes in.

 

            They’re properly holding hands by the time they’re on the way to Kuroo’s apartment.

 

            Kuroo _does_ get the movie started this time. Kenma’s sitting with his back against the arm of the couch, and with Ama in his lap, he has to hold the takeout container with his ramen above. Kuroo snorts a laugh when Kenma stretches his legs to rest them in _his_ lap, and balances his dinner on top of Kenma’s shins.

 

            They’re five minutes into the movie when Kenma makes the passing comment that he definitely knows one of the extras off to the side, and they never make it past that point. Kuroo hits _pause_ , and insists that Kenma has to elaborate. Which he does — he tells Kuroo about Semi and how he _almost_ got Kenma to go along with him for it, and it all tumbles out from there.

 

            Kenma’s moved closer on the couch, nearly sitting in Kuroo’s lap as he laughs with his head on his shoulder at a joke that probably isn’t even _that_ funny, but there’s something about Kuroo’s face as he says it, something about the too-wide gestures that scare Ama off the couch. Kenma can’t help himself, and it’s not long before Kuroo’s joining him.

 

            It’s late and completely dark outside by the time he leaves. Kuroo waits at the door while Kenma slips his shoes back on, and he has the softest, smallest smile across his lips that Kenma thinks it would be so easy to lean up and kiss, but he doesn’t. He comes close. _So_ close, especially because Kuroo looks like _he_ wants to when he pushes the hair out of Kenma’s face and tells him to text him when he gets home safe. He’s biting his lip as he goes down the stairwell, and he spends the walk back to his apartment on a phone call with Terushima.

 

            It’s easy with Kuroo. Stupidly easy. They text nearly all day and they spend evenings on the phone, and Kuroo drops by the bakery if he has the time when Kenma’s working. They get lunch one day between classes, and Kenma brings Kuroo to the art exhibit at his school just to show him the painting of a dog that he noticed when he came with Semi.

 

            If Kuroo’s not holding his hand, Kenma’s leaning into his side with Kuroo’s arm draped over his shoulders, or they’re both tucked closer than they should be in the same booth at the café halfway between their universities for breakfast. They’re parting ways after dinner and Kuroo drops a kiss to the top of Kenma’s head. Atsumu spends a week tormenting him over the heart next to Kuroo’s contact name on his phone.

 

            Kuroo picks him up from the bakery early on a Saturday afternoon with the promise that _today_ they’ll get to the movie, soon as he’s dropped by the shelter to feed the cats while Iwaizumi is walking the dogs with Sawamura. He’s got his fingers laced with Kenma’s and he’s smiling as he talks about the snails in his lab.

 

            “Kita was pretty sure he killed the one,” Kuroo tells him. “He didn’t, of course.”

 

            “But did you tell him that?” Kenma asks. He knows Kuroo well enough — has spent enough time talking to him — that he already knows the answer.

 

            It comes with half of a laugh: “Of course not. Where’s the fun in that?” He sends Kenma a crooked smile, and Kenma snorts and bumps his shoulder against Kuroo’s.

 

            Cider’s there to greet them at the door, and Kuroo laughs as she immediately comes for Kenma, nudging against his hand until he pets her.

 

            “She loves you,” Kuroo says. “Here, c’mere. She’ll follow, don’t worry.” He pulls Kenma along further into the shelter to a room with four or five different cats that Kenma can see. There’s one perched on top of the container the bag of food is in, and it watches Kuroo as he comes in. There’s another that makes a beeline for Cider, and there’s something amusing about such a small cat immediately sidling up to a dog that big.

 

            “That’s Crow,” Kuroo says. “She kind of totally loves Cider.” He introduces the other cats, including Dot, who’s small and black and eyeing them from where she’s curled up in the corner.

 

            Kuroo feeds them, tells Kenma they just have to stick around to make sure all of them actually finish their lunch without stealing from anyone else. “Because Dot’s an asshole, and she totally will if you’re not paying attention,” he says.

 

            Kenma leans on the table at the back of the room, and Kuroo comes up next to him, shoulders bumping together. He turns to look down at Kenma with an easy smile.

 

            “We should’ve gotten something to eat,” Kuroo comments. “Picked something up for the movie.”

 

            Kenma raises an eyebrow. “You say that like you plan to actually watch it this time.”

 

            “I do!” Kuroo insists with a laugh. “I refuse to let you distract me this time.”

 

            “Mm, sure, if you say so,” Kenma replies. “Historically hasn’t really worked out for you.”

 

            “I _mean_ it,” Kuroo says. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and he’s kind of leaning closer, and Kenma kind of wants him to _keep_ leaning. “We’ll see past the first five minutes, and you’ll love it.”

 

            “Right, I’m sure the first _six_ minutes are a masterpiece,” Kenma jokes.

 

            Kuroo tips his head back with a laugh, and Kenma’s feeling a _lot_. He jumps when there’s a sudden weight on his shoulder, and Kuroo laughs even harder at Kenma being scared by the _cat_. By _Dot_.

 

            “Oh, what a darling,” Kuroo says, once he’s gotten ahold of himself. “Isn’t she sweet?”

 

            “You were calling her an asshole five minutes ago,” Kenma points out.

 

            “When she’s not being an asshole, she’s sweet.” He leans forward to pepper kisses on top of the cat’s head, and Kenma glances away. He hears Kuroo’s snickering, and it’s _so much_ that Kenma’s feeling. It’s _ridiculous_. “What, jealous?” Kenma turns back to him with a huff. “Aw, Ken, that’s sweet.”

 

            Kenma wrinkles his nose. “Don’t patronize me.”

 

            “ _Me?_ Patronize _you?_ “ Kuroo gasps. “ _Never_.”

 

            “Asshole,” Kenma says, but there’s no heat behind it. “See where Dot gets it from.”

 

            “That mean I’m sweet, too?” Kuroo teases.

 

            Kenma rolls his eyes, but Kuroo’s kind of _right there_ , and he’s got that little crooked smile, and Kenma figures — it’s as good an opportunity as any.

 

            “You’re awful,” Kenma tells him. “But yes.” He wrinkles his nose at Kuroo’s shitty grin. “Shut up.”

 

            “Not saying anything.”

 

            “ _Shut up_.”

 

            “ _Make me._ “

 

            And Kenma does. It’s completely off center when he kisses Kuroo, and they’re both smiling too much for it to be any sort of proper, but then Kuroo’s moving a hand to Kenma’s cheek and fixing the angle, kissing him _properly_ , and _this_ is what it is. Stupid weeks of waiting for _this_ , for Kuroo’s hand on his waist and the collar of his shirt gripped in Kenma’s fingers.

 

            “So you _were_ jealous?” Kuroo murmurs when he pulls back.

 

            “ _Shut up_.”

 

            They don’t get around to the movie. There are too many other new distractions.


End file.
